


Small Things In Life

by AuroraKant



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Crack, Dick Grayson-centric, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stories Under 1k, YeetDC2020, warnings per chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: 1. Barbara just wants to spend some time with her best friend - even if that means babysitting twelve Martian children.2. When Tim finds Nightwing bleeding out in the sewers, he already knows that he is too late.3. The Potato Peeler Masturbation Misunderstanding - Or Brothers are Brothers4. It's not Dick's fault that he has opinions when it comes to heels - andstilettos? Really, Bruce?5. Dick wasn't ready to loose his little brothers - not after they had already lost so much6. The fever was burning bright inside of Dick - as did the need for his dad.7. As Dick awaits being rescued, he begins to wonder if anyone is going to come at all.8. Dick had a way to bond with everyone - with Steph that tended to end in painted nails.A collection of Batfamily Stories 1k or shorter
Relationships: Batfamily - Relationship, Dick Grayson & Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake
Comments: 98
Kudos: 222
Collections: Gotham Square (Batfam Discord Fics)





	1. Party Children

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I started writing short stories for my friends on the Discord these last few weeks and I decided that I should share them with the rest of the world as well! :D  
> This one is for the amazing graysonsflight or Kay, who wanted some fluffy Babs and the sentence "This is not what I signed up for"!
> 
> No Warnings for this! Just some Fluff set in the Young Justice universe set somewhere between Season 1 and 2! Have fun! (and maybe prompt me some more)

"This is _not_ what I signed up for."

“Then what _did_ you sign up for?”

Barbara faltered for a moment. What _had_ she thought that she had signed up for? Well, certainly not this. But Dick didn’t wait for her to figure out the reasoning behind her decision, before he continued to make his point clear:

“Because you heard the words ‘Martian Children’s Birthday’ just as well as I did before you volunteered us both. This” – he motioned to the chaos that was the Mount Justice – “is exactly how I imagined the mayhem would look like, when J’oann asked which heroes would look after his nephew and nieces from Mars while they visited.”

The thing was… Dick was not wrong. Their mountain base was... well, it had been redecorated, one could say. Apparently, phase-shifting Martian kids could create a lot of havoc with the help of three balloons, a few markers Cassie had forgotten to hide in her room, and a handful of popcorn. Un-popped. Barbara was pretty sure it would have been less traumatic for her and the ceiling if the popcorn had already been fluffy and eatable when two of the kids got their hands on it. And she had always thought Martians were averse to heat. 

Barbara did not envy the person who had to clean up this mess tomorrow.

Pah, who was she kidding? She and Dick would probably be the ones who would have to wrestle the chaos and the broken plates into submission, just as they fought against twelve hyperactive Martian kids who were currently visiting Earth for the first time, now.

But what else had she been supposed to do?

She and Dick rarely spent time together anymore, ever since… well, ever since Jason and Tula happened. Ever since Dick had become the leader of the team.

And Barbara _missed_ her best friend. She missed their study sessions and their fights for the TV remote, she missed his friendly teasing and his stinky post-patrol feet. She missed their _maybe_. Because right now they felt more like a _never_.

But Barbara had never in her life taken anything laying down. And she wouldn’t let Dick kill their friendship if there was anything, she could do to keep it alive.

So, you could call this horde of twelve Martian kids currently destroying Gar’s Playstation her Friendship CPR. Babs wasn’t above using dirty methods. And she wasn’t above being a winner as well:

“So, what do you say? Ready to try and get all of these kids to wear Conner’s black shirts so he has none of them left when he returns from his trip, the dirty little traitor?”

For a moment Babs feared that she had misjudged the situation, that the mischievous Robin that had – _maybe_ – stolen her heart, was no longer there, no longer interested in dumb pranks and idiotic plans. But before she could start to doubt herself too much a slow grin started to spread on his face. He looked like _her_ Robin again, and no longer like their leader Nightwing, who never smiled, never joked:

“How much do you want to bet that Conner just goes shirtless until black shirts magically reappear in his closet, instead of actually wearing a shit in another color? Five? Ten?”

“Pff, I have seen how Cassie and Karen look at him when he changes in the locker room… it will take a long time before any of the new shirts actually stays in his closet long enough for him to wear it.”

“Fair enough”

Dick was full-on grinning now and Babs could feel excitement flood her veins. She might have to clean all of this up tomorrow, and she might be caught up in a game she could only loose… but today she had won.

Today they were Robin and Batgirl again, who created havoc, two friends with the help of twelve Martian children, doing their best in making their friends’ lives harder.

Just like the good old days. Just like before.

Barbara was like a blood hound in that way – if she tasted blood, she would never let it go. There was nothing that would make her stop believing in Dick. Believing in their friendship. There was nothing that would stop her from wanting to achieve their _maybe_ :

“Nice. You get the T-Shirts, and I get the shaving cream… the mirrors in this place need a makeover!”

“Yeah, and be quick, J’oann said they would be back by 5 pm!”


	2. Darkest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tim finds Nightwing bleeding out in the sewers, he already knows that he is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Another small little drabble for you! And for Gemini_Baby who requested that I should kill Dick in the Discord!
> 
> Warning: Major Character Death and Major Sadness

There was blood. So much of it. Too much of it.

The moment Tim’s eyes found the slumped form of Dick, he knew that he had come too late. Bullshit, he had known from the moment he got the emergency signal that he would be too late.

 _Killer Croc. The Gotham Sewers. Fatal Wound to The Stomach_.

That had been Dick’s message.

The fear and knowledge that they would also be his last words sat heavy in Tim’s stomach.

When his knees hit the sewer water, the air around him smelling like a tire iron left in the rain, Dick was still alive. There was still a chest rising to fight for each breath, there was still a pulse pushing less and less blood into numb limbs. Tim wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by this fact.

But Dick’s eyes blinked open, not focusing, and yet finding Tim.

“Hey”

“Hn…”

Dick didn’t have the strength anymore to talk, only a soft sigh and a trail of blood escaping him. But still his gaze held strong. Tim… some part of Tim was glad that he could be here. That his brother would not die alone. That Dick would not have to go onto the next grand adventure without anyone by his side to see him off.

The larger part of him was screaming. His brother was dying – and there was nothing Tim could do to change that. There was nothing Tim could do to safe him.

“It’s alright. I am here. You are safe”

There was a rule, one that all of them knew, one that not even the villains of Gotham dared to break, and it was the rule, that you always offered a dying person comfort. A dying hero just as much as a dying villain. Because no one should go alone. And no one should go scared.

(and maybe there were exceptions, monsters so evil they didn't even uphold to this one rule born from necessity and empathy, but Tim didn't want to think of them)

It just sucked that Tim had to be the one offering this service to Dick.

That Tim had to be the one who send his brother away, who let him go.

Dick’s gaze held strong for far too long. It could have only been a minute or two but in Tim’s heart they would always feel longer than an eternity, when Dick’s eyes finally closed, when his body finally relaxed, when his breath finally failed to return.

It could have only been a minute or two, when Tim uttered the last words he would ever say to his brother:

“I love you, Big Bird”


	3. Po-ta-to, Po-tA-to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potato Peeler Masturbation Misunderstanding - Or: Brothers are Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay....  
> So, I am doing a 200 Follower celebration on Tumblr and the beautiful Kay asked for "That's not where that goes" and I wrote this....  
> I have no excuses for myself...
> 
> Warnings: Sexual Humor, No Romantic Relationship Between Jason and Dick... they are just idiots

It was a question of who would crack first. Dick or Jason. Jason or Dick.

It was a battle of wills, a war of endurance… it was the longest five minutes of Dick’s life.

“Soooooo…. Where does…?”

Jason said, finally breaking the silence, but somehow making it so much worse. He still held the electric potato peeler in his hand. This was the worst day of Dick’s life. This had to be hell.

“That’s not where that goes.”

Shit. Dick’s voice had been too fast, too hectic. Now Jason would surely be- Yep, there it was, the dirty grin Dick had feared would appear on his brother’s face.

“Aha, you know… I never took _that_ as being your kink… no shame, here, of course, honor between brothers and all that, just… I have to say that I am surprised.”

Dick would never hear the end of this. He would spend the rest of his life being taunted by the fact that Jason Todd thought that Dick liked to use potato peelers as a sex toy.

Now, first of all, Dick would like to clear some things up, not that Jason was going to listen to him:

He had never intended to use the peeler for anything besides its actual purpose of peeling potatoes, carrots, or zucchinis. The fact that it had ended up in his bedside drawer had very little to do with anything naughty, and quite a bit with Roy’s idea of a prank.

And second of all… Jason had no right to judge Dick’s preferences when it came to… _adult fun times_ , and Dick would do his best to hide the actual box full of… _toys_ in a better spot as soon as Jason stepped outside of this room. _He just had to get Jason to leave his room._

But none of these things offered themselves up for an explanation that would satisfy Jason.

No, but maybe Dick’s bumbling idiot routine would:

“You know… I am not saying that I used it… but when I bought it, it reminded me quite a bit of a di-“

“Ew! You bastard!”

Dick had never seen Jason move so fast, as just now, when the realization hit of what Dick had been implying. The potato peeler was now embed in the wall next to Dick’s head, the peel function being activated through the collision of wall and peeler, and Dick said a silent farewell to his security deposit once more.

It wasn’t as if he would see any of the money again, after Kory and Donna had held a Karaoke party in his apartment last month and Dick had to stop the fire, quite literally.

“And that’s why, my dear little brother, you don’t go sticking your nose in drawers that don’t belong to you.”

Dick didn’t know what was funnier: That Jason had actually been joking when he asked Dick the first time around or that Jason now believed that Dick had masturbated with a freaking electric potato peeler. Added to this inane question came the fact that the vibrating sound of the powered-up peeler was a bit distracting as it moved against his wall.

He really was living in the weirdest timeline.

“Can you go now?”

“Yeah… I’ll be waiting in the kitchen, disinfecting my hands with pure alcohol, until you are finished putting this kinky shit somewhere no innocent eyes can find it.”

“Your eyes aren’t innocent and never were. And now get OUT OF MY ROOM!”

Jason passed Dick on his way out, his eyes very deliberately never finding the summing machine stuck in the wall.

This truly had to be the worst day of all time.

The door closed behind him and Dick was quick to dislodge and – _finally_ – turn off the offending vibrating noise.

He was even quicker when he dived for the shoebox hidden under his bed. He needed to find a better place for this. He needed to make sure that none of his little brothers could ever find this. He needed…

The box was open.

Oh no.

Dread was pooling in Dick’s stomach as he opened the lid further. Inside his assorted toys waited for him – and a small post-it note from Jason with a pig drawn on it.

“JASON! PETER!! TODD!!! YOU ARE DEAD!”

Only laughter answered him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering what the potato peeler looks like:  
> https://www.amazon.de/dp/B07RKTT1L5?tag=duc03-21&linkCode=osi&th=1&psc=1


	4. Killer Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not Dick's fault that he has opinions when it comes to heels - and _stilettos_? Really, Bruce?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again for the 200 Follower celebration!  
> Dear Squinty wanted the sentence "Okay, but why stilettos?" for Bruce and Dick and I delievered!  
> Why don't you guys drop me some prompts as well? 
> 
> Warnings: Crossdressing, Utter Crack

Dick stared at the clothes Bruce had prepared for him. They were tasteful, classic, and beautiful… it all pointed in the direction of Alfred being the one who had actually selected all of these items. Not that Dick cared all that much about the fact _who_ has chosen his clothes for galas like the one tonight. He just wanted to get them over with.

But before he could do that, there was one question he had to ask:

“Okay, but why stilettos?”

“Why not?”

Once again, Bruce just didn’t seem to understand the mind of his teenage son:

“Why stilettos. I mean, yeah, my legs look amazing in them, but… they are a horror to run in. You saw Nancy faceplant at the last garden party and I am telling you that was only because of her six-inch-Louis-Vuitton stilettos.”

“Dick, I am not sure…”

“And don’t even get me started on the marks they leave on my toes! My big toe was red for an entire DAY after I wore stilettos the last time. It _hurt_ , Bruce. Why no flats? Or at least a- a sensible heel?”

Dick knew he was getting red, his make-up under serious duress should he continue his absolutely justified rant about the merits of a good shoe. It would be a catastrophe if his make-up would get smudged, since he had spent hours contouring his face, making sure his eye make-up complimented the color scheme of his dress, and his lipstick was truly dry and kissable. 

But Dick had _opinions_ when it came to shoes.

“Dick.”

“Bruuuuuuuuce”

“Dick… look, just wear the heels today, okay? And next time, I will make sure that the event allows for flats. Or… sensible heels.”

It was hard to suppress the urge to pout, Dick more than aware of the fact that he would look utterly adorable if he did it while being dressed up like this. But now was not the time. He knew that, Bruce was right.

“But only because it’s you. And at least you led Alfred pick out the dress this time.”

“Hey.”

“It was prune, Bruce. PRUNE. I hadn’t even known that that was a color before you showed it to me.”

And maybe Dick _was_ laying it on a bit thick, but the dress Bruce had chosen last time had truly been terrible. The color hadn’t complimented his eyes, and the slit had been so high, Dick hadn’t found a single comfortable sitting position the entire time they had been at the opening celebration.

“Dick…”

Bruce always sounded so long suffering on evenings like these, as if he wasn’t currently dressed in a red cocktail dress and a long-ass wig, Dick _knew_ Alfred had to force him into. It just wasn’t fair… If Dick had a chance to play dress up, he should at least get the option to look his best.

“Yes, yes, I am almost ready. We can go and rob a bank.”

“Dick.”

“Or save the city. In this dress I can do both… in these heels? We will see. Really, Bruce, stilettos…”

Bruce sighed once more when he left the room, so Dick could finally get dressed. Dick knew that Bruce didn’t really understand, but in a job like theirs one thing was the ultimate truth:

The shoe always had to fit the occasion.


	5. At The End We Are Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick wasn't ready to loose his little brothers - not after they had already lost so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> We are back at the 200 Follower celebration prompts!  
> This one is for the wonderful Elie! <3  
> If you want me to wirte a prompt, just tell me a character, a line or sentence and a mood! 
> 
> Elie wanted: "Do you think I wanted this?" for Dick and brothers of my choosing. I went with Damian and Tim.
> 
> Warnings: Off-Screen Character Death, Some Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort (I promise there is comfort even if it is a touch bitter sweet)

"Do you think I wanted this?"

Dick stared at his brothers, Tim and Damian sitting in front of him, completely wet, completely crushed.

“Do you think I wanted for you to fight, to run off, to nearly get killed?”

“No…”

Tim’s voice was barely above a whisper. Worry twanged inside Dick’s heart at the sound of it. But, no, he had done all he could for both of them. He had given them warm blankets, and something hot to drink, and a hug full of “I’m sorry”s and “you are alright”s.

He had given them everything he could give, and now it was time for him to tell them what he felt as well:

“Because it sure as hell sounded that way when you yelled ‘you don’t care for me anyways’ earlier. And it sure as hell sounded that way when you, Damian, ran after him, claiming I would be happy if one of you died.”

They wouldn’t meet his eyes, their gazes everywhere except his face.

They needed dry clothes and a warm bed and a future that didn’t include spandex costumes and grown men trying to kill them. They needed love and care and the possibility of a loving family.

They would never get any of that. Not after...

And yet Dick would do anything in his power to give them just that. But before he could do that, he needed for them to understand something. He needed for them to know what he was feeling – because they couldn’t just go on breaking his heart:

“You… you are both absolutely wonderful children, or teenagers – yes, Tim, I know how old you are. You are…. You almost died tonight. For a moment I thought you were dead. Both of you. And…”

He should stop himself. Whatever else wanted to leave Dick’s mouth was not for them to hear. Whatever else he wanted to say, was for Bruce’s ears alone – but the man was dead – or for Kory’s lips to kiss away – but they hadn’t talked in years.

And yet he was too slow to stop himself:

“And I don’t think I would have survived that. Not after what happened to Bruce. Not… _we are the only ones left_.”

They were. Gotham had fallen. Bruce had fallen. The first giant taking the second with her. All that was left was a shadow Dick never wanted to fill. He was Batman once more, and he hated it with an even fierier passion that the first two times around.

Maybe because he knew this time there would be no going back. No coming back.

He would be Batman until the day he died.

A Batman with two Robins and two Batgirls by his side – all of them taking what they had in the hopes to make it last.

That was if Tim and Damian didn’t get themselves killed before it was their time. Before Dick could even try to safe them all.

“I… I am truly sorry, Richard. I--- We didn’t want to distress you.”

“We really didn’t, Dick. We weren’t thinking-“

Dick hated himself when his voice cut through Tim’s attempt of an explanation:

“But you can’t make mistakes! Not in the situation we’re in! One misstep and you’re dead, Tim. One. And today… that was too close.”

They all fought. Some days it felt as if all they did nowadays was fighting. Dick was sick of it. Was sick of the way he felt more like Bruce each day. He had loved his father… but he had never wanted to become him:

“I am… sorry. That was uncalled for, Tim. You too, Damian. I shouldn’t just… I can’t lose you. Especially not to something as dumb as a disagreement over patrol routes. I _need_ the both of you. I need you.”

“We need you, too.”

Damian was the first one that moved, clinging to Dick in a tight hug, his still wet clothes cold against Dick’s chest. But Dick didn’t complain. Instead he pulled the boy closer, inviting Tim into the embrace with a look as well.

Soon all three of them were sitting on the floor of their safe house, whispering apologies and promises of love. They only had each other left.

It was Damian who whispered the words “We Robins have to stick together” late in the night, when Tim had already fallen asleep against the chest of his older brother, and Dick was absentmindedly staring at the leather jacket Jason had left here, just to never return.

It was Damian who reminded them that there was one thing uniting them. That they would have to be stronger than this. Better than this. All of them. That they would have to work together.

Because they were Robins. And Robins had to stick together.

In the end... they were Robin.

In the end... they were the only ones left.


	6. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fever was burning bright inside of Dick - as did his need for his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!   
> I am writing quite a few things at the time but most of them won't be ready immediately....  
> So, I thought I'd ask for some short prompts and the wonderful Gem asked for fever-sick Dick thinking that he is alone!   
> I shall deliver!   
> This is a typical whump scenario with some descriptions of fever but nothing more graphic than that!   
> I love comments, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and the knowledge that you guys enjoy these stories! <3

Dick’s body was burning up from the inside out. He could feel the sweat dripping down from his brow onto the warm skin of his cheekbone.

There was probably something he could do to stop the annoying sensation from repeating every few seconds, but that would require moving his arms. And they were heavy… oh God, they were so, so heavy.

So, instead of drying the offending beats of sweat, Dick just listened to the rasping sound of his own breathing, to the failing air conditioning that was probably making everything worse, to the beat of his own tired heart.

Dick couldn’t even remember when he last got a fever this bad.

Well, remembering things in general was a bit hard right now, his head a thrumming mess of fever crazy thoughts chasing one another.

He had felt fine when he got home from a lazy summer patrol a few days earlier, but the next morning had greeted him with a scratch in the back of his throat and a stuffed nose. Now, three days after the last time he had allowed himself to leave the house as Nightwing, his fever was dangerously high.

And he was alone.

Dick hadn’t called anyone, had thought this to be just a typical summer cold back when he had first gotten sick, and now he was paying the price.

His phone laid on the kitchen counter with a dead battery, and Dick’s abused throat cried for the soothing relief of water. But getting up cost too much. Leaving the bed was a herculean task, and Dick felt more like Sisyphus right now.

Instead he focused on the sweat collecting on his forehead – and his back, and under his arms, and between his legs – and the heat that tore through his cells, destroying enzyme after enzyme.

He felt like death warmed over.

The thought that he would be just that if someone didn’t come by soon did only little to sooth him. But what else was he supposed to do?

His muscles were weak noodles, left in the pot for too long, and he wasn’t even sure if he could still recall the phone number of the Manor. His eyes fell shut, the heaviness of his own reality dragging him down.

He was tired, he was sore, he was… sick and alone and he wanted his dad.

Back when Dick had first come to live at the Manor Bruce and Alfred had always huddled up with him in Dick’s room whenever he got sick. They built a blanket fort, and Dick would drink tea, his nose closed off and bright red, as he cuddled against the giant chest of his guardian (father).

Maybe Bruce would do the same now.

Dick could almost feel the cool hands of his dad against his burning forehead, the soothing baritone ringing in his ears, before he remembered that he was alone. In his apartment. In Blüdhaven. Without anyone even knowing that he was sick.

It was the fever that made him hear things, the fever that made the aching in Dick’s chest so much worse.

He wanted his dad – but all he had was the beads of sweat slowly dripping down his cheek. Or maybe he was crying.

The thrumming of the A/C a backdrop to the water Dick couldn’t spare to spill.

His own ragged breathing a companion to the loneliness that had settled deep in his bones.

The sound of a door being unlocked…

A door? Unlocked?

But Dick was alone. He was the only one with keys to his apartment, the only one who had access to this house at all. It must be the fever talking. It must be his own fraying hope that tried to sooth his misfiring neurons in a last attempt to ease his pain.

“Dick? Is anyone home?”

The sound only reached his ears through the waves of vertigo taking hold of Dick as he tried to sit up, the muscles in his arms protesting, his body refusing to rise more than a couple of inches. It was the voice of his dad that echoed through the apartment.

Delusion? Again? _Still_?

His arms caved, his body hitting the sweat damp blankets once more, and a soft keen escaped him. He wanted water. He wanted cold. He wanted something besides the heat that slowly threatened to cook him alive. It seemed as if his brain was already halfway fried.

“Dick? Your superintendent called. He said you haven’t been at work. Dick?”

The noise was coming closer and Dick imagined worry lacing through Bruce’s voice. He imagined honest to God worry in the Batman’s voice. He truly had to be delusional.

And then the sound stopped. Right in front of his bedroom door.

Dick pried one of his eyes open, only to be greeted by the blurry sight of his disorganized room. No, the colors were too much. The room was too much. Seeing was too much. He let his eyelids fall closed again, the heaviness in his limbs dragging him towards the ground of the ocean.

“Where are you-? Dick? Shit.”

Someone was touching him, pressing cold skin against the burning mess of his forehead. So cold, so soft, so familiar. This didn’t feel like a hallucination. This felt like home.

“Chum, you are burning up. Why didn’t you call?”

Dick didn’t answer, but his dad didn’t care. Bruce was here now, and somehow Dick was sure that it wasn’t his imagination this time. The hands began to wander, taking his pulse, counting his breath, checking his temperature.

“Shit… this isn’t good… let’s get you to a hospital, chum. Let’s make sure that you are alright.”

Dick didn’t want a hospital, he wanted hot chocolate and a blanket fort, but Bruce didn’t seem to care about Dick’s silent disagreement, as he picked him up, his arms so solid underneath this mess of moving parts Dick had turned his body into.

Bruce was here.

His dad was here.

Everything would be alright. Dick was sure of that, even as the fever raged. Dick was sure of that, because at the end of the day, his dad always saved him.


	7. Remember Me (Save Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dick awaits saving, he begins to wonder if anyone is going to come at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya!   
> The wonderful Nostra wanted Dick Being Captured + Thinking Nobody Is Going To Come + Happy End! And I shall deliver!!!  
> I hope you have fun with this!  
> I love hearing from you guys! <3
> 
> Warning: A Tiny Bit Of Blood, Dehydration, Fear of Death

Dick tested the shackles connecting him to the wall. Again. They didn’t budge. _Again._

But what else was he supposed to do? There was nothing he could do besides staring at the dirty, slimy wall opposite him and wish to be somewhere else. It felt more like an reassurance for himself – _that he was still alive, that he was still here_ – to regularly pull against the steel biting into his wrists.

How long had he been in here?

Too long.

His stomach ached with hunger, his throat burned with thirst, and the only feeling left in his arms was the sting from bloody wrists and the pain from a position so uncomfortable no one should be forced to endure it for any amount of time.

But the only thing he could do was wait. Someone would come for him. Batman would come for him.

But why wasn’t he here yet?

It wasn’t as if Dick hadn’t activated his emergency beacon the moment he had felt the drugs in his system take effect. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t followed the protocol for kidnappings to the letter. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done everything he could.

And yet nobody was here.

It had been hours, days – it felt as if he had been here for weeks.

But maybe that was just the hunger talking, maybe that was just the thirst slowly grating away on his sanity. He was tired, and he had slept – he was pretty sure at least – but it was hard to find relief in the sleep of the exhausted when only nightmares came to haunt his dreams.

It would be easier if something would happen. If anything would change. But nothing ever did.

There was no evil maniac torturing him for information, no sick bastard using him for unethical experiments. He was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

And that’s what really grated on Dick’s nerves.

Because he remembered being on patrol, he remembered the piercing sensation on his neck, he remembered touching the small dart that had managed to hit him… but he couldn’t remember an enemy.

Who had taken him? And what the fuck was their goal?

Dick didn’t know. With a sigh he let his head drop back against the dirty wall, wishing for a shower once more. He was filthy. Filthy and grimy and disgusting. For a moment it was easier to focus on the dirt covering his skin than on the thoughts whirring in his brain or the pains that wrecked his body.

Dirt was a problem that was easy to solve. A shower and some warm fluffy towels and suddenly Dick would be whole again, would be clean again. His wrists on the other hand? They would need medical attention and bandages and antiseptic salve. Maybe they would even scar.

But the cobwebs in his hair and the sweat collecting at the back of his uniform? One shower and they would be gone. And he would be as good as new.

Maybe that would keep his thoughts from wandering as well. Because with each hour Batman didn’t appear, with each minute Red Robin or Robin or Batgirl didn’t break through the wall, the hope Dick tried so desperately to cling to got harder and harder to grasp.

Because what if they didn’t come?

What if no one decided that Nightwing was worth saving? That Dick Grayson needed to be freed from this prison? Well, he would be dead this time tomorrow. Or at least well beyond saving.

It would be the thirst that killed him. From the parched feeling of his throat, and the chipped reality of his lips, and the woozy blanket stifling his thoughts, dehydration was already doing its very best to kill him.

His wrists would be an afterthought, soon, water the only thing Dick was able to think about.

Water and the fact that he wanted his dad to save him.

That he wanted _someone_ to save him – at this point he would even take the Red Hood. 

Because Dick didn’t want to die, and most importantly, he didn’t want to die alone.

Why hadn’t they found him yet? Why was nobody here to cradle his body against their chest?

Dick would cry, he thought with distant disinterest, if there was any water left in his body to spare. But he couldn’t even shed any tears, the rivers inside of him dried up long ago. Instead he tucked against his shackles, finding comfort in the way they didn’t budge, in the way the cuts on his wrists opened again to send sparks of pain through his body and droplets of blood spilling down his arms.

At least he was still alive.

At least he could still feel something. Something besides despair.

His eyes fell closed against his will, exhaustion threatening to drag him down under. Would he wake up again if he went to sleep now? Would he get to greet another day? Or would he die in his sleep, the most peaceful death a vigilante could ask for?

Dick Grayson didn’t want to die – he wanted his family to save him.

Maybe they heard him, or maybe the universe realized that it still owed him for all the pain Nightwing had shouldered on its behalf, or maybe the world was fair – at least sometimes. Dick had no idea which of these were the mechanics at work here… he just knew that the wall of his cell imploded inwards.

He blinked the dust from his eyes, the forms in front of him blurry, his ears still ringing from the explosion. But not even his discomfort could quell the relief that flooded his veins as he realized just who was standing in front of him: Batman and Red Robin.

His mouth was too dry to greet them, but he could still smile, and smile he did when Batman stepped forward, closing the distance between them:

“I’ve got you, Nightwing. We are bringing you home.”

His dad had come for him. Dick Grayson was safe.


	8. Paint Me The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick had a way to bond with everyone - with Steph that tended to end in painted nails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> Here I am again! And it is once more a wonderful little treat Nostra wanted: Dick and Steph bonding with the help of nail polish!

The first time Dick Grayson had ever worn nail polish it had been an act of teenage rebellion. Kory had wanted to try it out and Dick had offered his hands, and when Bruce had asked about it when Dick came home from the Titans that day, he had planned on telling him just that. But Bruce had already been scowling, wearing the typical face of displeasure parents of teenagers seemed to love, so Dick had changed his course. He had declared it an act of emancipation from Bruce Wayne.

(Bruce had made him remove it before the next gala out of fear that it made him too recognizable)

But before long nail polish had become something that Dick actually enjoyed. He liked the ritual of it, the way it forced him to slow down for a couple of hours – he liked the way it allowed him to bond with Steph.

Babs had never been interested in the intricacies of make up beyond what she needed to know to blend away bruises and Cass loved flashy colors, but not on her hands. Steph, on the other hand, loved few things as much as her quite impressive nail polish collection.

“Back when I was a kid, I wanted to open up a nail salon.” She said now, her brows furrowed as she cradled Dick’s hand in hers. She was inspecting his nails, and Dick already knew that she wouldn’t like what she would find. How he knew? Well, he didn’t like the look of his nails either.

“Oh, what changed your mind?”

“I saw the world, and thought to myself, nails are fine, but a nurse is something Gotham can really need.”

Dick had counted on an answer like this – the inherit savior complex all of them encompassed making it hard to find a job that was as satisfying as being a vigilante was. Even though he had left his cop days behind him – and thank God for that – he was still constantly searching for jobs that… _saved_ people.

It wasn’t really surprising that Steph would do the same.

“Hm, understandable. You would have been a great nail artist, though.”

“Well, of course, I would have! But… your nails are really a travesty.”

He had to agree. His nails were chipped and clipped and broken. It was hard to swing from building to building and not break a nail. He didn’t have the time for manicures on the regular, and the rough skin of his hands protected him even if it didn’t look pretty.

Not that pretty was the goal – for neither of them.

“That’s why I asked for a session in my very own nail studio”

His grin was bright, and her answering scowl one of playful annoyance. Steph’s voice was light and chiding when she answered:

“But only if my nails get the Dick Grayson treatment after!”

“Of course!”

He watched as she pulled a nail file from the bag sitting next to them on the floor of Dick’s apartment and got to work, saving what was still salvageable. They were silent as she worked, Dick watching as she put her entire concentration into making sure his nails would look good.

He would do the same for her later, but until then he would enjoy the calm of not having to do anything besides existing. It was too soon that Steph stopped, looking at Dick and offering him her bag:

“Tell me what you want on your nails. Three colors max.”

“I would love this one” – he pulled out a well-used holographic glitter polish – “over this” – a deep teal color – “and this.”

The last color he had chosen was a deep purple. So deep in fact, you could almost describe it as eggplant. Steph’s answering grin was payment enough, and Dick smiled as his little sis got to work.

It was rare for them to get moments like this, moments that only existed for their own amusement. They would fight again soon, they would risk their lives and cry in pain and frustration, but right now… Right now, they were sitting on the carpeted floor of Dick’s most recent apartment, painting each other’s nails, enjoying the company and this small piece of frivolous art that so often escaped them in their daily lives.

That, and the nails looked amazing.

“I love it!”

Dick let his fingers dance through the light of the desk lamp, watching as the glitter reflected rainbows, enjoying this small piece of color in an apartment so bleak.

“My turn now.” Steph pushed her hand into his face, and Dick could do little else but laugh as he grabbed her hand, inspecting her nails. They were just as chipped as his.

She was in the same profession after all.

“There is some work to do here, too.”

“ _Ass_.”

She was laughing and Dick answered in kind: sticking out his tongue to make her laugh even harder. They would watch a movie later, letting their nails dry in peace while they complained about a lack of snacks, and then she would cuddle up against him, and he would ask her how she was doing. She would answer truthfully. 

And then an emergency would get called in, and they would have to stop being Dick and Steph and get back into being Nightwing and Batgirl, but until then Dick would tease her, and she would be a brat back.

The nail file felt heavy in his hands as Dick got to work, cautious as if not to destroy his own freshly painted nails. He could feel her eyes on him as well, but Steph enjoyed the silence of chatty people just as much as he did.

They were always loud – they could bath in silence.

“Color?”

“What do you think?”

“Eggplant and yellow with a splash of glitter?”

Dick had expected her to nod, but instead she only leaned in further, grabbing the bag, before throwing three polishes at him: Electric blue, Black, and a lightning top coat. Maybe his mouth was gaping as he looked at her, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. She had never chosen this combination before:

“What?”

“I thought I should shoutout to one of my favorite heroes. He is not as cool as the girls – of course – but I think Nightwing is pretty neat.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Dick couldn’t hide his grin or the smile that had crept into his voice. He didn’t want to either.

“Yes, but you love me anyways.”

“I sure do, sis.”

And with that Dick went to work, painting her nails black and blue.


End file.
